If
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: A collection of unrelated vignettes from the 2020 challenge on LJ.
1. if

Disclaimer: Not my characters.  
Prompt #1: _And if ever fate should choose to smite you, stand your ground, never walk away _– "Lullaby", Assemblage23

He stands completely still; some part of his brain registers shock that it's come down to this, but there's another part of him that's known this was coming. It was inevitable: the moment he heard the words, "Your wife's real name was Irina Derevko," he's known that he would kill her. (Despite what the CIA told him, he'd known she was still alive, laughing at him somewhere out in the world, and he'd vowed she would not get the best of him.)

She looks up at him, her lips twitching as if she wants to smile, as if, even now, she knows something he doesn't, something important.

He crouches at her side, raising the hand she'd pressed to her stomach to stem the bleeding, and calmly looks at the wound. The smell of gunpowder is thick in the air surrounding them.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."

"Twenty years?" she gasps, and now she does smile. "Do you know-" another gasp"-how many times I – I was tempted to kill you while you slept?"

"Maybe you should have."

She coughs, and there's blood on her lips. Something about that gives Jack pause, and doubt gnaws at the edges of his conscience.

"Tell me, Irina, you're such a big believer in fate; do you think it was destined to happen this way? If you hadn't betrayed me – betrayed Sydney – maybe we would have had a different ending."

Her eyelids flutter closed, she grabs Jack's wrist when he tries to stand, and her grip is surprisingly strong. ". . . destroy each other anyway . . ."

And suddenly there's a knife in Jack's gut, and Irina's laughing—

Jack jerks upright in his bed, his hand automatically moving to his stomach before he realizes he's been dreaming again. In the first few months after he'd been released from CIA custody, he'd dreamed every night about killing Irina.

Now she's back in his life, and so are the dreams.

In the morning, after he arrives at the task force building, he watches Irina on the monitors. She's motionless, sitting in the centre of her cell, and Jack wonders if she knows he's watching her.

He wonders, if given the opportunity, whether he'll have the courage to kill her.

(He wonders what he would have done if, twenty years ago, she had come to him with the truth.)


	2. forgiveness is murder

Prompt #2: _Lets go back, let's rewind to the days that remind me of all the good times that we spent together_ – 'Everything I knew' Busted  
A/N: Set after Before the Flood, but in an alternate season 5.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

Irina stared at her husband but didn't reply. Then she looked around the room, noticing that nothing had changed since the last time she'd been here. One of Jack's safe houses, they'd met here often during their search for Sydney. The last time had been three weeks before Jack was imprisoned, just over eighteen months before Jack killed a woman he'd believed to be her, thirty-six months before she found and lost her family all over again.

That last night together, Jack had whispered the words she'd been waiting more than twenty years to hear again, and she had believed him.

Jack opened the bottle of vodka that was sitting on the table, poured some into a glass and slid it across to her. The movement broke her from her thoughts. She removed her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair before taking her gun from its holster and laying it on the table. She left the knife in its sheath on her ankle. If Jack remembered that habit of hers, he didn't comment.

"I wasn't going to come," she said as she sat down and picked up the glass.

"I'm glad you did."

Her mouth twisted into a cold smile and she pushed the gun, sending it sliding across the table to her husband. (Strange, she thought, after everything that had happened, they were still husband and wife.)

"What—"

"So you know I'm not going to shoot you."

"Bitch."

She stared at the glass in her hand, unwilling to look at her husband and see the hate that was sure to be reflected in his eyes. She downed the vodka in one sip then stood and turned to leave.

"Irina."

And then she dared look at him. (For the last time, she thought. After this she would be out of his life for good.) Instead of hate, she saw regret.

"Why did you call me here?" she asked.

"I—" He sighed. "I've never been good at apologizing."

She kept silent.

"I needed to see you. I missed you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I want to hear the truth." She closed her eyes; released the breath she'd been holding. "You said you loved me and then you killed me, Jack."

"You said you loved me and you lied to me for ten years."

"I lied. Yes." She smiled, this time sadly. "I didn't love you in the beginning, you know. But by the end – by the end I would have – I did – kill to keep you and Sydney safe."

"Irina—"

"How's Nadia?"

He sighed. "There's no change."

"Of course." She nodded. "Goodbye, Jack."

"Do you remember the day we got married?"

"Yes."

"You were late."

"The driver got lost."

"I told you it didn't matter—"

"—you'd wait forever if you needed to." She trailed off.

"What did we know about love? We were kids, then." Jack came around the table and took her hands in his. "There are some things that can't be apologized for. What we've done to each other falls into that category. But I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't love you."

"Jack—"

"I thought you'd betrayed me again, and I was wrong. I didn't listen to what my heart was telling me." He paused. "I tested Nadia when we returned from Sevogda."

Irina felt relief sweep through her: he knew, at last.

"I should have known Sloane was lying. I should have known you would never hurt Sydney, especially not after what we went through to find her—"

She cut his words off with a kiss. "None of it matters anymore, Jack. Both of us have too much to confess."

"Am I forgiven?"

She smiled. "Am I?"

He nodded.

"Love me."

"I do."

And she believed him.


	3. tonight

Prompt #3: _I was taught to win, taught to fight, I never thought I could fail_ – 'Don't Give Up', Peter Gabriel

She looks in the mirror for traces of the woman she used to be. She mouths the name of the dead, afraid to give voice to it, as if acknowledging it aloud will bring the woman back to life.

_Laura_.

She is thinner than when she left America; time in Kashmir has taken its toll on her – she cannot sleep more than fours hours at a time, and her appetite is practically non-existent. They gave her a month after they released her. She could hardly return to Russia looking as if she's spent time in prison; that wouldn't look good for the Party.

Tonight there will be a celebration in Moscow, and Irina will smile and laugh with her comrades. She will tell them how awful America was and how glad she is to be back home at last. She will tell them what a fool Jack Bristow is and how she despised him. She will say her child is a brat and she's glad to be rid of her.

(Those who watched her in Kashmir will watch her closely tonight. But she will say nothing of a baby, of unexpected tears as her wedding rings were ripped away, of nights where she dreamed her name was still Laura. And those who are watching will nod and smile and congratulate themselves on a job well done.)

Tonight they will toast her successful mission, and Irina will dance and laugh and drink, and go home with one of the men who are sure to come on to her. She will fuck him, and try to forget the life she lost.

But that is tonight. Now, she sits at the dresser, a shell of the person she wants to be. She closes her eyes, and Jack is in the room with her. "Why didn't you tell me?" he says. "We could have disappeared."

"I'm sorry," she says. When she opens her eyes the room is empty and Katya is knocking on the door.

Irina tells her sister to come in, then picks up the eyeliner. Her hands do not shake as she adds kohl to her eyes, and if she notices that the tan from the rings on her left hand has faded, she won't say.

"What the hell did they do to you?" Katya is as blunt as ever.

Irina continues applying make up, the colours darker than anything Laura ever wore, and she wonders what Jack would say if he saw her now. She tells herself not to think of Jack.

"Ira, look at me."

Irina turns in her seat and smiles. It is not Laura's smile; it is the smile of the woman who will become The Man, and as Irina stands to leave for the party, she leaves Laura at the mirror, and tells herself that the dead woman will be her last failure.


	4. dance with me

Prompt #4: _You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be and I don't want to go home right now_ – 'Iris', Goo Goo Dolls

On their first date, he takes her to a jazz club. The sign outside promises a great show, but it turns out to be something of an open mic night. Halfway through the evening, he leans across the table and apologizes. He looks so annoyed with himself, certain he's messed up his only chance to impress her, and she feels heady with the power she has over him.

She smiles, and pulls him to the dance floor. No one else is dancing, but she's never been the shy type. Despite his protests that he's not a dancer, he's not too bad, and she decides she likes the way he feels pressed up against her.

At the end of the evening, he's brave enough to kiss her, and she's surprised at how much that one kiss leaves her wanting more.

They're lovers by the third date, and Irina realizes this assignment is going to be more fun than she anticipated.

When her handler tells her it's understandable for her to develop feelings for her mark, she laughs at him. He simply smiles, and tells her to use whatever she feels, but to always remember it's just a job.

Six months down the line, she realizes she might be in trouble when it's Irina, not Laura, who says, "I love you."

The next time they go to the jazz club, it's because a friend of a friend of Jack's has invited them. The band is better this time, and Jack's dancing has improved. The reason for their early departure has nothing to do with the music.

Her feelings for this man surprise her, but she keeps telling herself they mean nothing. He means nothing. This is just a job.

The wedding reception is unbearable, only because Irina's tired of smiling at all these people, she's sick of this white dress, and she'd prefer to dance with Jack in private. So she contents herself with whispering into his ear all the things she wants him to do to her when they're finally alone.

They don't stay much longer after that.

They dance to Mozart and Handel and Ella Fitzgerald and the Beatles. They dance to music only they can hear, and they're the only two people in the world.

When Sydney can't sleep through the night, he puts on a record and dances with her, and Irina watches and forgets that this isn't supposed to be her life.

When Sydney's older, she sits on the top of the staircase and peers through the railing as her parents dance. (This is something Sydney will always remember.)

Her handler comments on how well she's doing her job. "Perhaps, Ira," he says, smiling, "you like this assignment a bit too much, hmm?"

Her laughter catches in her throat as he reaches for her, but she knows better than to protest. "You know me better than that, Gerard," she says, and kisses him.

When she gets home, she scrubs herself until her skin is red, and weeps. Time is running out, she realizes. She's living on borrowed time. Laura's time.

The night before she dies, she puts on a record and holds her hand out to Jack. It's ironic that their first and last night should be marked by jazz, but it's somehow fitting.

Twenty years later, she smiles at her husband from her glass cage. She's always known they'd dance again.


	5. in the flames

Prompt #5: _All of this hate, And all of this pain, I'll burn it all down , As my anger reigns, 'Till everything burns_ – 'Everything Burns', Ben Moody, feat. Anastacia

* * *

She gasps for breath, her fingers scratching at the hands on her neck. He's going to kill her, she knows this now, and yet there's a part of her that still believes he won't. He can't. She looks like Laura and he loved Laura with everything he was.

Maybe that's the problem. He's not that man anymore, and she's not Laura. She was never really Laura, not when it mattered, not with him.

She deserves this, for what she's done to him. She stops fighting, fixes her eyes on his. If she's going to die by his hand, she's masochistic enough to watch him kill her.

Black spots dance at the edge of her vision. Her lungs burn, begging her to fight, to live, to breathe.

He releases her, stumbling backwards until he reaches the wall. Oxygen rushes into her lungs and she's overwhelmed for a moment. She blindly reaches out, her fingers meeting her discarded gun, closing around the handle.

_Kill or be killed_. It's what she's lived by for thirty years.

He looks at her, his face expressionless as she points the gun at him. In his eyes she sees his devastation, sees what she's done to him. She pulls the trigger.

The bullet lodges in the wall next to his head, and she lets the gun fall to the floor. She cannot kill him any more than he can kill her.

Instead, she crawls across the floor, her bones and muscles already feeling the effects of their fight. He pulls her to him and his mouth moves straight to her neck, his kisses soothing the damage done by his hands. Hands that are now tugging at her blouse, taking off her bra, moving gently over her skin as if all they know how to do is love a woman, _this_ woman.

She runs her fingers through his hair, remembering a time before it was grey and they were the happiest two people in the world.

He mumbles her name – her real name – against her skin and she pulls him closer.

And now he's gentle with her, so gentle, and it's somehow worse than the violence. All she knows anymore is violence, and to be loved is something unfamiliar and frightening. It's love that will kill her, she knows this, and yet there's a part of her that rejoices she's still worthy of being loved.

For a moment, it's just the two of them and the rest of the world doesn't exist, and she's on fire. He runs his hands over her as if he's sculpting her. Maybe he is, she thinks. Maybe he's making her into something new.

She leaves when he's asleep, knowing that whatever fragile peace they have might not have survived the night. They'll meet again, they always do, and they'll fight, but they'll make love too.

It's enough for now, she thinks with a smile, to know that he loves her as much as he hates her.

It's a start.


	6. whispers in the dark

Prompt #6: _Hello my friend we meet again, It's been a while where should, we begin... feels like forever_ 'My Sacrifice' - Creed  
A/N: Set post-Sevogda, in an alternate season 5.

* * *

Jack lays on the bed fully-clothed, too exhausted to even bother with undressing. He glances at the clock on the bedside table, its bright red numbers showing a time when most people would have been asleep for hours.

He waits.

His cell phone vibrates in his pocket; he'd forgotten to take it off silent. He flips it open, glancing at the caller ID even though he already knows who it is. He lets it ring a few times while he contemplates whether or not to answer. (Of course, he'll answer; he always does.)

"Hello, Irina."

"Did I wake you?" She doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. He wonders again where she is and what she's been doing since she walked away in Sevogda.

"No," he says.

"Why not? It's three in the morning."

"I was—" He pauses, considering whether or not to tell her the truth. He decides he will; if he doesn't start now, he never will. "I just came back from the hospital."

"Oh."

He hears the unvoiced question – all the unvoiced questions, and knows she'll never ask.

"Nadia woke up, for a moment. Just for a moment." When she doesn't reply, he continues. "There's hope, Irina."

"Jack, I—" There's an uncertainty in her voice that he doesn't recognize, and he wishes he could see her. He remembers when Sydney was five and had a fever; Irina sat by her bed all night and didn't move until the fever broke. How could he ever have doubted her love for their daughter?

He wonders how much worse it is now that she has to rely on other people to tell her how Nadia is.

"Where are you?" he asks, though he knows she won't tell him.

"You should get some sleep." She hangs up.

Jack holds his phone. He thinks about calling her back but decides not to. It's one thing to accept phone calls from an international terrorist; it's something else entirely to make a call to one, regardless of whether or not you're married to her.

Irina crosses the floor of her hotel room and steps out onto the balcony. After so many months of living in a dirty cell, she needs to feel pampered, and though the hotel is one of the best she's ever been in, there's still something missing. After her rescue, there's been a need for something that she cannot quite define.

Maybe that's why she keeps calling Jack, she thinks. There's something unfinished between them and Irina doesn't think she'll be able to rest until there's closure, either way.

She thinks of what he's just told her: Nadia woke up.

It doesn't matter that it was only briefly; the fact that she woke up at all is a miracle in itself. It's been a long time since Irina allowed herself to hope, but as she looks out into the distance and thinks of her family, she lets herself believe.

She calls a week later. As Jack answers, he realizes he's been waiting for the call, and he's not quite sure what to make of that.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"I'm starting to think that the only reason you call is in the hope of waking me up." He settles back against the pillows and waits for her to speak again.

She laughs, and it's been so long since he heard her laugh that he feels a physical ache.

"I miss you," he dares to say.

She says nothing for a while, then, "You could go to prison for that, you know."

He smiles. "Would you break me out?"

"Maybe." A brief pause. He can tell she's smiling too. "Are you busy?"

"At three in the morning?" Now it's his turn to tease: "Wait, so are you calling to find out if I'm sleeping alone?"

She laughs again. It's good to laugh with her; he thinks of those early days when it was so easy to be with her.

Suddenly Jack's cat jumps off the edge of the bed and runs out the room. Jack frowns, and reaches for his gun. "I have to go," he whispers, and hangs up.

"I—" Too late. Irina smiles. She leans against the wall and waits.

There's a soft meow, and something warm winds itself between her ankles. She picks up the cat as the lights suddenly come on.

"Normal people knock or ring the bell."

Irina studies her husband; he's dressed for sleep and carrying a gun. She's relieved to note it's not pointed at her and turns her attention back to the cat.

"Breaking and entering is illegal," Jack continues.

Irina scratches the cat's head, eliciting a purr from the animal. "You don't sound like you missed me."

Jack crosses the room and hugs her, then pushes her back against the wall, trapping her with his body. The cat gives a startled meow and slips out from between the two of them.

"She scratched me," Irina says, holding up her finger.

"Hmm." Jack takes the finger into his mouth. "Better?"

Yes, Irina thinks, this is what was missing. "How's Nadia?"

"About the same. The doctors are positive, though."

"And Sydney?"

He pauses. "Sydney's pregnant."

Irina's too surprised to say anything. Jack's hand brushes across her belly.

"Our baby's having a baby."

She smiles.

Jack presses against her again. "Stay tonight."

She wraps her arms around him and closes her eyes. "Where else would I go?"

They make it as far as the couch.


	7. in this silence

Prompt #7: _In this white wave I am sinking in this silence_ 'Silence', Delerium, feat. Sarah Mclachlan

He sits, hands shackled to the arms of the chair, dressed in prison grays, his face a blank mask. Hic colleagues on the other side of the table ask question after question and still he's silent. He's been through this before, been on both sides of the table, and he knows better than to give them what they want. Especially now, when the stakes are so high.

"Dammit, Bristow. She's not worth it." Kendall, perspiration shining on his bald head.

"We know you're working with Derevko." Lindsay. Sneering. Jack doesn't even acknowledge him.

Days pass. Sitting alone in his cell, he thinks of Sydney.

Weeks turn into months. Nothing changes.

He thinks of Irina, too. Sometimes, when the loneliness is too much to bear, he closes his eyes and conjures an image of her. Sometimes he feels her there with him, her hand on his leg, her breath tickling his neck, but when he opens his eyes, she's gone.

He wonders how close he is to losing his mind. He wonders if he's already lost it – he swore, once, that he would do whatever it took to destroy Derevko, and here he is, sitting in solitary because he refuses to give her up.

Another interrogation: "She's laughing at you, Bristow. Thinks you're a fool."

Someone else: "What are you getting out of protecting her?"

His own voice of doubt: _She doesn't love you, she never loved you_.

And he remembers her smile first thing in the morning, her lazy laughter as they shared a joke in the evening, a moment on a train when her face lit up with joy and he realized for the first time that not everything with her was a lie.

If he gives her up, Sydney will have no one. Irina will die, and he will probably move from a solitary cell to one in another part of the prison.

"I don't trust you," he told her. Except he does, he has to, she's the only one he can. He wonders if she received that last, hastily sent message: _Alive! Find her!_

His love for her has destroyed his life twice over, and the most surprising thing for him to realize as he lies in bed at night is that his love is the one thing that remains constant.

"Why are you protecting her?" they ask over and over again.

They'll never believe him if he answers.


	8. in darkness

Prompt #8: _Whether near to me or far, it's no matter darling where you are, I think of you_ – Night and Day (Kevin Kline and John Barrowman)

These days, she has all the time in the world to think. Elena has found what she needs and no longer has any use for Irina. She rarely comes anymore, but when she does there's a part of Irina that wishes Elena would just kill her already. She knows she won't, though. The Derevkos love games, Elena more than anyone, and she tortures Irina just because she can. She's never needed a reason.

Irina knows this. She also knows that as soon as she is able to, she will kill her sister, blood ties be damned. Elena crossed the line first.

So Irina thinks and plots, and every time Elena smiles at her, she imagines putting a bullet between Elena's eyes, the way Jack did to Irina's clone.

Jack.

It shouldn't hurt as much as it does, she thinks. After all she's done to him, why is she surprised he wanted her dead? She told herself years ago that she never loved him; told everyone who asked that she thought he was a fool. (All lies; he's the smartest man she knows, and she could no more stop loving him than stop breathing.)

Everyone except Elena. Her methods of extracting the truth are impossible to resist.

If she ever sees Jack again, Irina thinks, she might put a bullet between his eyes too. (Deep down, she knows she won't. There are a thousand ways she's willing to hurt him, but she won't kill him.)

She imagines the look on his face when she rises from the dead again, because she knows they'll meet somehow; their lives are tied together in so many ways she cannot even begin to unravel.

Now, sitting alone in the dark, she thinks she can finally accept that. She wonders what Jack will say when he realizes this; because he will, eventually. Just because he doesn't believe in destiny, it doesn't mean that Fate will let him get away with choosing his own. Irina thinks she'll tell him this, the next time she sees him.


	9. daily deaths

Prompt #9: _Sometimes I feel I've got to, Run away I've got to, Get away, From the pain that you drive into the heart of me _'Tainted Love' – Soft Cell

* * *

"Talk to me," Elena says. Irina's just been released from Kashmir and she shakes her head; she can't talk to anyone, ever, about what happened in there. 

"Ira." Katya pours a shot of vodka and slides it across the table. "It's good to have you back."

Irina downs the vodka, then takes the bottle from Katya. If she can be numb enough to forget . . .

"Talk to me," Elena says, and they're children again. Katya and Irina look at each other and smile. It's Katya who speaks first, laughingly retelling how she and Irina successfully picked the pockets of people in Gorky Park.

"I'm going to tell Mama."

Katya pounces on Elena. "Don't you dare!"

Irina holds out a handful of kopecks and smiles; she's the youngest, but already knows how to ensure her sister's silence. "Come with us next time."

"Talk to me," Elena says, and Irina can barely breathe; she wonders how she's supposed to be able to speak. She looks around for Katya, then realizes she's not here because this isn't a dream and Katya's somewhere fucking Jack while Elena digs into Irina's mind.

Both her sisters have betrayed her, yet somehow it is Katya's betrayal that hurts the most. At this point death will be a welcome relief, if Elena would only let her stay dead.

Elena twists her hands in Irina's hair. "Talk to me."

Irina falls back into memory.

She holds her knife at Jack's throat. "You were supposed to protect her!"

"She's not dead."

Irina lowers her guard for a fraction of a second, but it is enough. In another second Jack has her pressed again the wall, his gun digging into her ribs but it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, because Sydney isn't dead—

"Talk to me." Something burns in her veins; a drug of some kind, but she doesn't care. She falls deeper.

A brush of his hand across her belly. She laughs. "Stop it."

"I think it's cute."

"I am many things, Jack. Cute is not one of them."

"Irina Derevko, terrorist. Ticklish."

She rolls, pushing him onto his back, then climbs on top of him. "I'll show you ticklish—"

There's a sharp pain in her chest and she's jolted back to reality. A cold, dark room. A machine. A table. Elena smiling.

Irina tries to control her breathing. She didn't tell Elena anything about Rambaldi, she thinks triumphantly. She didn't break.

But her throat is raw from talking and Elena looks too pleased with herself. Irina's smile falters as Elena bends forward and kisses her forehead.

"Thank you, Irishka. You can rest now."

It is a few days before Irina realizes she gave her sister exactly what Elena was looking for. She gave her Jack, and now she's dead, again.

The next time Elena says, "Talk to me," Irina knows she will never leave this room.

But she will not be broken.

Jack is there, holding her hand and telling her to breathe through the pain. She wants to kill him, but in the next instant it's over and Sydney's in her arms and she's so small and beautiful and perfect and Irina is terrified. Here is her weakness, this man and this child, and Irina knows she will do everything in her power to protect them.

"I'm scared of the dark," Sydney says. "There's a monster under my bed." And snuggles between Jack and Irina.

And it's dark and cold—

"Stay with me," Jack says.

"I have a class."

He pulls her back onto the bed. "Can I see you again?"

"Maybe." She wants to laugh at how easy this is.

"I don't like maybes." He rolls on top of her and his grin lights up his face. "I can't let you leave until you agree."

She thinks she's going to like playing with him.

Pain, worse than anything she's ever experienced. She feels like she's on fire. She wishes Elena would just leave her dead.

"Talk to me." Elena's tone is laced with frustration and she is no longer smiling.

Irina can no longer be sure what is memory and what is dream. They're at the park, watching Sydney and Nadia go around and around on the carousel. Jack has his arm around her and this feels so perfect, but it's not quite right—

Elena's stroking her hair when she wakes up again. "You always were so stubborn, Irishka."

Irina says nothing.

Elena hands her a photograph of three Derevko women: Elena has her arms around Sydney and Nadia; all three are smiling at the camera. Irina wants to weep.

"Michael took that," Elena says. "He's a sweet boy. He must love Sydney very much to look past her relationship to you."

Irina's not listening; all she can think is how beautiful her daughters are.

"I've been staying with them, you know." Elena smiles and there's a look in her eyes that Irina recognizes all too well. "It would be the easiest thing in the world to kill them."

She leaves the photo with Irina, who tears it into three pieces, and lets the piece with Elena's image fall to the floor. Then she clutches her daughters to her heart and cries.

When Elena returns, she sits next to Irina. She waits a while before she does anything, and it's in this time that Irina can see the machine is no longer in the room. She knows why Elena no longer has a use for it, and knows that her sister has beaten her.

Irina will give up the world to keep her daughters safe.

"Talk to me," Elena says, and Irina does.


	10. unbreakable

Prompt #10: _Don't want your hand this time, I'll save myself, Maybe I'll wake up for once"_ – 'Going Under', Evanescence

* * *

Just because he understands their interrogation methods, doesn't mean he's immune to them. Solitary confinement. Sleep deprivation. Sensory deprivation. He feels himself slowly beginning to crack, and when they ask _tell us where she is, give her up and you're free_ it's tempting, so tempting to answer.

But he's not foolish enough to think their promises are real, so he holds on to the last bit of hope he has left. Sydney's alive. Irina's looking for her. The last two truths he has left. He has to believe he'll see his daughter again, somehow, however impossible that seems. Because if he doesn't believe that—

_Come on, Bristow. Talk._

He looks at his interrogators with a blank expression on his face, and tries to hold onto what little control he has left.

Three months, he thinks. Last time it was six. He wonders how long they'll keep him this time. He wonders if it even matters.

Alone in his cell, shadows on the wall. Darkness creeps further in, slowly stealing all the light. Another day.

Four months, give or take a few days. It's getting harder to tell. They've given up their previous techniques, and try threatening him with various punishments. Life imprisonment. Death. He wants to tell them those aren't the worst things he can think of.

Month five. Maybe. He feels strange after finishing his dinner, and belatedly realizes something's not quite right . . .

He wakes up in a motel room in Mexico. It takes a moment to register: sunlight streaming in through the window, voices from the street below, laughter, music, the warmth of a body curled up against him.

Irina.

He thinks that maybe he has lost his mind after all. She stirs when he touches her hair; it's softer than he remembers. She smiles as she looks up at him, and he thinks she looks tired.

"Jack."

He can't stop touching her. It's the first genuine human contact he's had in months and she's soft and warm. And real. His dreams are never like this.

"You broke me out." He rolls so he's on top of her.

"Yes." She helps him slip off his shirt then smoothes her hands across his back. "I couldn't do it on my own anymore."

"Couldn't?" He doesn't believe her.

She grins. "Didn't want to."

Before he can speak again, she puts her fingers over his lips to keep him quiet. "I know, I know. It was dangerous and I shouldn't have, but—" Her sigh is somewhat shaky, and tells Jack everything he needs to know.

"It was about time," he says, and kisses her.

And slowly, his world starts to make sense again.


	11. mine

Prompt #11: _I'm not a perfect person, There's many things I wish I didn't do, But I continue learning_ –'The Reason', Hoobastank  
A/N: Panama. ;)

* * *

She asked him, once, if he kept track of all her sins in a little black book. He'd glared at her through the glass wall separating them, and she saw his hands twitch at his sides as if he wanted to reach into her cell and strangle her. So she smiled, and said it was probably a big black book.

It's easier for them both if he hates her. She's told herself this every day for twenty years; most of the time she believes it.

Tonight, she doesn't. Not when he's kissing her the way he kissed Laura, when his hands are moving over every inch of her skin. He's rough tonight, and she's glad. He bites, she scratches, and they both know they're marking each other.

_Mine_.

She straddles him, the possessiveness she feels reflected in his eyes. They belong to each other in ways she doesn't completely understand, but tonight she doesn't want to think. If she thinks she'll remember all she has is this one night, that tomorrow she's going to betray him again—

Well, he's going to think that. He's supposed to think that. He's supposed to believe every bad thing he's ever heard about her – But not tonight.

And now he's on top, and this is a game she remembers well. She raises her hands above her head, even as her mind cautions her it's probably not a good idea to let him cuff her.

When he climbs off the bed, she realizes she should have listened to her instincts.

"I know you're going to betray us tomorrow," he says. His earlier passion has all but disappeared, and she feels oddly vulnerable under his appraising stare.

"Jack—"

"Don't lie to me!"

She's suddenly so tired, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to let the truth spill from her lips. But he won't believe her.

Even if he does, the last thing she wants from him is pity.

"If your actions endanger Sydney in any way," he says coldly, "I will kill you myself."

She looks at him as defiantly as a woman handcuffed to a bed can. "You know, you used to be a lot more fun in the bedroom."

"Tell me, Irina, does it get easier each time you betray someone?"

No, she thinks. And then she speaks, giving as much truth as he can handle right now. "I'm not going to hurt Sydney, Jack."

"You hurt her just by being her mother."

"And you're perfect?"

They stare at each other in silence, then Jack slowly crawls on top of her. His teeth nip her earlobe as he whispers, "I meant what I said. I will kill you."

"Noted." She arches into him. "But not tonight."

His mouth travels over neck. "No. Not tonight."


	12. for love and failing

Prompt #12: _I wish you were here tonight with me. I wish I could have you by my side_ - 'Still Standing' The Rasmus  
A/N: Set pre-series.

* * *

Sometimes Irina looks at herself in the mirror and cannot see any trace of the idealistic young woman who left Moscow. Most of the time she doesn't care, but there are moments where she feels the sharp pain of loss, and she tells herself to stop thinking about Mama and Papa and her sisters. She reminds herself that she's here to serve her country, and one day she will go home and she can be herself again.

Except – most of the time she feels that she's already home. It would be easy to believe she's always been Laura, that this life is real, that she really does love Jack.

She's always been good at lying to herself.

In the beginning, she enjoyed the time alone when Jack was away, she used to allow herself moments – in private, of course – when she could be Irina again.

She's not sure when the house started to feel empty without him.

She tells herself it means nothing that she sleeps on his side of the bed, wearing one of his shirts, or that she has nightmares about him falling into enemy hands and never coming home.

She doesn't realize she's still supposed to be his enemy.

These are all things Laura would do, she thinks. She rationalizes and she justifies and lies to herself – because to admit the truth would be treason. Irina tells herself she's in control, that she knows what she's here for, she's still focused on the big picture.

Except now he's three days late.

She finds herself waiting for the phone to ring, and dreading it at the same time. No news is good news, she thinks.

He'll come home.

She places her palm against her belly and thinks of the child only just starting to grow.

He has to come home.


	13. countdown

Prompt #13: _I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye _"Affirmation" – Savage Garden  
A/N: Pre-series.

* * *

_Seven_.

She wonders if this is how terminally ill patients feel as they near the end. Do they count the days left of their life, the way she's doing now? Do they jealously guard their time with the people they love, the way she does with the family she's not supposed to love?

The words of her handler run on an endless loop through her mind. Extraction. A week from now. "I'm sure you're looking forward to going home," he said, and smiled before touching her cheek. "We've missed you."

Home, she thinks. I am already home.

She has seven days.

_Six_.

Her hands shake as she tries to prepare dinner. The knife slips; she barely feels it as it cuts her hand. She's numb; maybe she's already dead.

"Mommy! You're bleeding!" Sydney screams, and Jack rushes into the room.

She's unexpectedly teary and stands there looking from her husband to her daughter until Jack takes charge, and gently bandages her hand.

"We'll eat out tonight," he says.

Sydney clings to her. "Mommy, are you okay?"

No, sweetheart, she thinks. We'll never be okay again.

"Mommy's fine," Jack says, and Sydney skips out of the room to get ready for the restaurant.

_Five_.

She kneels in front of the toilet and somehow just knows that this is more than a stomach bug. There's a part of her that screams denial, because if it's true then she's not just killing Jack's wife, but robbing him of his child.

There's another part of her that thinks it's fair: he will have Sydney, this way she won't lose her whole family.

She contemplates telling him the truth, telling him everything, then decides she can't bear to see him look at her with hate.

Maybe this is for the best, she thinks. At least they'll be safe.

_Four_.

She can't sleep, can't eat, can't think. She's restless, distracted, unfocused.

She snaps at Sydney, who promptly bursts into tears. Filled with guilt, she hugs her child, whispering apologies and I love you's.

She fights with Jack, and in the next instant kisses him. "What's wrong?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"Nothing." What's one more lie?

They make love slowly and she tries to memorize the feel of him inside her, above her, the way his kisses taste.

"I love you," she tells him again and again and again.

I'm sorry, she thinks, forgive me, I love you.

_Three_.

Dear Jack, she writes, there's something I need to tell you, and I can only hope that you'll hear me out. My name is Irina Derevko and I was born in Moscow. When I was seventeen the KGB approached me. For a young woman at that time, it seemed like an incredible opportunity, and an honour to be asked to serve my country. Three years later I came to America to—

Tears cause the ink to bleed and blur on the paper, and she knows she can never tell him this. It's too late to explain.

She burns the letter.

_Two_.

She watches Sydney sleep. Her beautiful, perfect child. How can she leave her?

She can't bear to think that she'll never see her again, though she knows it's unlikely they'll meet. Sydney is another casualty of a war between two countries who care nothing for the people torn apart in the name of patriotism.

Be strong, my angel, she thinks. Be brave, and know that I will think of you every single day.

Look after your Daddy for me.

She kisses Sydney's forehead; her heart breaks into a million pieces.

"They'll kill you if I stay," she whispers. "Love you."

_One._

She counts the hours. Twelve, eleven, ten.

When Jack gets back from work she kisses him so hard that Sydney, wide-eyed, says, "Eww!"

"What was that for?" He smiles.

"Just because."

Four, three, two.

"I have to go. I'll be late for my meeting."

Another kiss. "I'll wait up for you."

She hugs him tight. "I love you."

To Sydney: "Be good for Daddy."

"Yes, Mommy."

She drives away, vision blurred by tears. Jack will be waiting, and then they'll tell him she's dead, and—

Over the bridge. The water is icy, shocking her into survival mode.

Laura is dead.


	14. life

Prompt #14: _It's my life, it's now or never, but I ain't gonna live forever, I just wanna live while I'm alive_ "It's My Life" – Bon Jovi

* * *

There are skid marks on the road; testament that this is all real, that Jack is not dreaming. Laura is somewhere in that icy water. All the wishing in the world will not bring her back to him. And now there is an empty grave and a broken family.

He imagines her terror as her car plunged into the river; somehow she'd managed to get out but the current was too strong. He wonders if she fought the water. Knowing Laura, she probably tried her hardest to get to the bank and to safety. She would have done all she could to get back to her family.

He remembers the first time he'd seen her, how she'd been so vibrant and full of energy. There was a spark in her that drew him to her, like a moth to a flame, and now he doesn't know he's supposed to carry on without her. He's forgotten what it's like to not have her in his life.

She'd always been so alive, he thinks. There was nothing she wasn't afraid to do or to try; it is – was – one of the things he loves about her.

This isn't fair. He's not ready to let her go. He still needs her; Sydney still needs her.

"Promise me forever," she'd say, and he did. This is not the ending they're supposed to have.

A car pulls up beside him and Arvin gets out. "Jack, what are you doing here?"

"I needed to see it."

Arvin sighs. "Jack, I need to talk to you."

"Okay."

"At the office."

"I'm not ready to go back to work yet."

And then Arvin says the words that further upend Jack's world: "Jack, Laura was not who we thought she was."


	15. moonshine

Prompt #15: _To all the fights I've conquered and beheld, the times have changed and I will now move over slowly. But through it all I still feel lost without you. _Lost Prophets – "Sway"

* * *

It's in the cargo hold of a train in the middle of India that she realizes for the first time just how much she has lost.

_-- He tastes of alcohol – cheap but potent moonshine. The same poison is in her bloodstream and she's numb to all else except desire for him. It's been three weeks and she's missed him (and right now she's too drunk to care about what that means)._

_Something's burning. "Jack, your toast—"_

_Later, in a hotel room, they look at their sleeping child and decide they're the worst parents ever. –_

She's surprised to realize that she still wants him. There's still something between them, even after all these years, and she sees in his eyes that he recognizes it too. (Maybe all is not lost.)

_-- "I love you, Laura. Forever and a day." –_

She's not blind to the way Sydney watches them; in some ways she hasn't grown up at all. She's still the six-year-old Irina kissed goodbye before she drove her car into a river.

She thinks of all that she's done in the years between. People are afraid of her. She shot her own child; what kind of mother is she?

She thinks of Rambaldi, of all that this pursuit has cost her. And as she looks at her family, she wonders if it is worth the price.

_-- A pig-tailed girl flies into her mother's arms. "I love you, Mommy!"_

_A young man surprises his wife with theatre tickets. "I don't understand ballet, but it's your birthday."_

_A woman watches her husband sleep and silently apologizes for having to leave. –_

There's still some alcohol in the bottle. She takes another sip.


	16. runaway

Prompt #16: _Somebody save me, I don't care how you do it – Just stay. Stay, come on, I've been waiting for you._ Remy Zero – "Save Me"

* * *

The first time Irina left Jack – when she drove into an icy river and said goodbye to a woman she had grudgingly come to like, to a man she loved in spite of her daily objections, and to a child who had become the centre of her life – she told herself she had no regrets.

On her worst nights in Kashmir, she dreamed of them, imagined Jack finding out the truth and coming to rescue her. Dreamed of what she'd say, of how he'd tell her none of it mattered as long as they could be together. Of course, he never did, and Irina buried the weakness deep inside her, so deep that she forgot it was there. Forgot pancakes for breakfast and a child with messy pigtails. She had more important things to do.

The second time she left Jack, she could still feel his hands on her skin, could still taste his kiss. Again, she told herself she had no regrets. There was no time to regret. (But a tiny part of her, the woman who did remember waking up to kisses and laughter hoped that one day she would have the chance to explain. Hoped that one day Jack would listen.)

The third time Irina left Jack, they both bore bruises, though not all visible on the skin. She knew this wasn't the last time she'd walk out on him; they were living in dangerous times, trying to find Sydney's killers, trying not to kill each other, trying not to love each other.

She was waiting in a hotel room (after the twentieth, thirtieth, fortieth time) when she received word that he'd been arrested.

Months later, when she herself was a prisoner, again playing the _what if_ game (What if Jack was free? What if he came to rescue her? What if Sydney was still alive?) she watched her dreams fall to ashes around her as Jack murdered a woman he believed to be her.

"It's about time he left you," Elena said. "No man can be expected to be loyal forever, especially not to someone like you."

In Sevogda she proved her sister wrong, but then she did what she knew best, and left Jack again.

He found her in Prague, in a tiny inn that was centuries old. She'd come here to hide, to recover away from anyone who knew she existed, to mourn the life she could have had. Buried under thick sheets, lost in the past, she didn't hear him enter, and when she finally realized someone else was in the room with her, all she could do was stare at him.

She said nothing as he climbed into the bed with her, and didn't resist when he curled up behind her, his arm around her waist to keep her in place.

"When are you going to stop running away from me?" he asked.

Now, she thought, and turned to kiss her husband.


	17. other nights

Prompt #17: _You shut your mouth. How dare you say I go about things the wrong way? I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does._ (Love Spit Love – How soon is now)

* * *

His hands are on your throat; it's the first physical contact in months and it's somehow right that it's violent. He'll leave bruises; long, thin blue fingers on your skin, but you don't care. Bruises are temporary; they'll fade after a couple of days. The scars left by words last longer, and they're worse. You prefer the physical pain, you think distractedly as his fingers tighten around your neck.

You wonder if this time he'll kill you, and you think that's fitting too. You deserve worse; for all that you've done to him.

But he can't, any more than you could kill him, and you draw a deep breath as the pressure on your windpipe lifts.

"What can you possibly say to make your actions acceptable?"

You tilt your head and smile in the way you know infuriates him. Maybe you like seeing him angry. Maybe you want him to hurt you again. "Truth takes time."

"I've had enough of your fucking 'truth takes time'!" He pushes you against the wall, hard enough to stun you for a moment. The brick is cool against your back, and his body is warm in front of you, and suddenly you remember a time when things were still good between you. A time when you called yourself Laura and he said he loved you.

You want him to touch you in a different way.

He remembers too, you think. You feel his body soften against yours; his breathing changes. You twist your fingers in his hair and kiss him.

You don't want him to be gentle, not tonight. There will be other nights, and maybe one day you can give him the explanation he needs to hear. But not tonight.

"I hate you," he whispers, and you smile. It's not you he hates, it's that there's still this connection – this fire – between you, and it drives him crazy.

You bite his neck, then push him away.

"Bitch," he says and steps towards you. You put your hand on his chest and shake your head, then slowly unbutton your blouse. You manage two buttons before he rips the rest free, then spins you so you're facing the wall. His hand slides across your belly and he laughs against your neck. "Now who's the tease?"

He tugs your pants down over your hips, and there is nothing tender about the way he fucks you.

"I hate you," he says again, but there is no conviction in his tone. You turn around again and kiss him, then get dressed.

"I'll be in touch."

He's still standing there, leaning against the wall with one hand, looking completely lost, when you slip quietly out there room. There's a part of you that wants to return to him, to take him by the hand and lead him to bed, to make love to him, but you keep walking.

There will be other nights.


	18. lost

Prompt #18: _If you're lost, you can look and you will find me, Time after time. If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting, Time after time._ – 'Time After Time', Cindy Lauper  
A/N: Pre-series.

* * *

There's blood on her hands, and she's crying. He stares at her, momentarily frozen, but hears her murmur his name, and immediately snaps into action.

"Laura?"

She's pale, so pale, standing there in her nightgown, blood too red on the white material. She stumbles into his arms. "Jack – the baby – I –"

A frantic 911 call, then a call to Emily to come over and watch Sydney, and all the while Laura clings to Jack, her tears wetting his shirt.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he says, holding her hand in the ambulance.

"She's okay," he tells himself as he scrubs the blood from his hands in the hospital bathroom.

"Everything's okay," he tells Sydney over the phone. "Mommy and Daddy will be back soon. Be good for Aunt Emily, okay?"

There's an IV in her arm and she's still far too pale. She looks so fragile in the hospital bed. She looks helplessly at Jack and says, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says again. "You're okay. That's all that matters."

She shakes her head. "The baby—"

"It's not your fault."

And she's crying again; he doesn't know what to do except hold her. So he carefully climbs onto the bed next to her and gently takes her into his arms.

"I love you," he says.

She sobs harder.

It's weeks before she lets him touch her again, and the more she pulls away, the more he worries that he's going to lose her.

Two months. She would have been five months along by now, he thinks.

Three months. She reaches for him when the lights are out. Moulds herself against him and he's surprised at how much weight she's lost.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He says nothing, but kisses her gently, and waits.

"I wanted that baby."

Me too, he thinks.

"I love you so much, Jack." She's crying again.

It's years later, after she's dead and he's going through her things, that he finds the Cyrillic characters spelling out his child's death, and he finally understands what she meant.


	19. tin man

Prompt #19: _Oh I am what I am, I do what I want, But I can't hide_ (Here With Me – Dido)

* * *

She calls herself The Man these days, and people speak of her with a note of fear and reverence in their tone. They say she cares about nothing and no one, that she would kill her own child if she was asked to. (No one knows how she pleaded for the life of her child in a concrete cell in Kashmir. On hands and knees in front of a former lover, her eldest sister watching with a mocking smile. "Oh, Irushka, look at what they made you.")

Knives are her weapon of choice; they say it's because she likes the feel of blood on her hands. They say she fears nothing, not even death. (Cuvee laughs as she scratches him. They're in bed; he's made her his again. "My little tiger. You just can't die, can you?")

No one knows she's already dead. (Watching the _Wizard of Oz_, Sydney asks, "Mommy, how can the Tin Man live without a heart?" He can't, she thinks.)

Sitting in a dark hotel room in Vienna, she thinks, _I am the Tin Man_. She presses her favourite knife to her arm, holding it there as the blood wells up and drops onto the sheets. She feels nothing, but she's always surprised to realize she still bleeds.

She finds herself thinking of things (people) she shouldn't. A dark-haired child and a man whose smile she loves. Loved.

She is dead to them both; and the best thing to do would be to kill herself so they can truly be free. Except a ghost cannot die, and so she puts the knife down. The next best thing is to forget about them, but she cannot do that either. ("Jack Bristow is a fool," she tells Cuvee. They're in bed again, talking of Rambaldi and power. "I never loved him." Cuvee kisses her. "Of course not. You don't know how to love.")

She hears one day that her husband (because, of course, he'll always be her husband) has been injured by one of her men. Not stopping to think, she summons the guilty party and slits his throat. Then, casually wiping his blood from the blade of her knife, she commands his comrade to get rid of the body. (Alone, she stares at her shaking hands and imagines she's the one who injured Jack. She cries.)

They say she's unhinged, bloodthirsty, power hungry, insane. They say a lot of things. But no one says that she's a woman who just wanted to serve her country, then fell in love, a woman who is trying to survive in the only way she knows how.

No one says she's tired of being dead.


	20. funeral black

Prompt #20: _It's a damn cold night, trying to figure out this life, won't you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new _(Avril Lavigne – I'm With You)

* * *

She's in Sao Paolo when she hears of Sydney's death, and for a moment it's too awful to comprehend so she just stands there, staring numbly at the person who told her. Her first reaction is denial – it can't be true, it's not possible, Sydney's the Chosen One, she can't be dead.

She orders her men out of the room and picks up her cell phone. She dials half the number, then changes her mind. She needs to see Jack face to face; she needs to see his eyes to know if he's lying to her.

A few hours later, she's on a plane. Desperate as she is to know the truth, she isn't foolish enough to rush straight back into the US. For all she knows, this could be an elaborate ruse to draw her out. Of course, for that to work, they'd have to believe she actually cares for her daughter, and though it's true, she doesn't think they believe it.

Two days, and she's in Los Angeles, watching from a distance as Jack lets himself into his house, dressed in a black suit. _Funeral black_, Irina thinks, but still she refuses to believe.

She waits until she's sure it's safe, then breaks into the house. Jack is in Sydney's old bedroom, sitting on her bed, holding a photograph. Irina steps into the room, her gun raised, and says, "Tell me what's going on."

Jack looks up. "I was wondering when you'd show up." He sounds tired.

"Whose idea was this?"

He shakes his head and his gaze returns to the photo.

Irina's confidence wavers, but her voice is firm when she says, "I know Sydney's not dead."

Jack looks at her again, and there's pain in his eyes. She's never seen him this broken and she knows, she _knows_. Her strength leaves her and she leans against the door.

"Who?"

"I don't know. Sloane maybe—"

"Sloane wouldn't. He believes she's the Chosen One."

"Do not defend Arvin Sloane to me!"

Irina looks around the room, sees the child she left behind and feels the sharp sting of regret. She had told Sydney there would be time to explain later, and she'd been wrong.

"I'll find out who's responsible." She's not sure who she's promising: herself, Jack, Sydney, perhaps all three of them.

Jack stands up, the photograph still in his hands, and Irina sees it's one of Sydney. "And then we'll kill them."

_We_, she thinks, and holds out her hand. Jack reaches out to take it and they stand like that for a moment, as if twenty years haven't passed and Sydney is going to come running in at any moment.

"How can I contact you?" he asks, and suddenly they're back in the present.

She gives him her cell phone number, then squeezes his hand and slips out of the room. Her heart is still heavy as she returns to her car, but there's a sense of purpose. They will find Sydney's killers and make them pay.

And after that, perhaps, there will be time to grieve.


End file.
